Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 21.

by Melissa

Part 21. Whispers of doubt, seeds of action.

Mrs. Henderson, the head maid, awoke with a scowl. The news of Melissa's arrest had soured her mood considerably. She sat up in bed, the crisp cotton sheets doing little to soothe her ruffled feathers. Melissa, in jail? The girl was a handful, no doubt, always pushing the boundaries, sneaking around with papers when she should have been learning her duties. Mrs. Henderson had suspected for some time that Melissa had been studying in secret, a fact that had irritated her more than surprised her. But theft? That was a different matter entirely. Melissa was many things – spoiled, entitled, a touch too clever for her own good – but a thief after her arrival at Elmwood? That, she couldn't believe.

Mrs. Henderson rose and walked to her wardrobe, a sturdy, no-nonsense piece of furniture. Inside hung her uniform, starched and impeccable, ready for the day. It was a variation of the standard maid's uniform, designed to reflect her position as head maid. The dress was a dark grey, a shade more dignified than the navy blue worn by the other maids. It was still long, reaching just above her ankles, but the cut was slightly more tailored, reflecting her authority. The white apron, as crisp and clean as ever, was longer as well, extending almost to the hem of her dress. It was also devoid of any pockets, a symbol of her supervisory role, as she wasn't expected to do the same chores as the other maids. A small, grey cap, trimmed with a slightly wider band of lace than the others, completed the ensemble.

Mrs. Henderson pulled the dress from its hanger, the heavy fabric a familiar weight in her hands. She slipped it over her head, the smooth fabric a welcome comfort. She fastened the buttons, her fingers moving with practised ease. The apron followed, the long white expanse a stark contrast to the grey of the dress. She tied the strings at her back, the bow neat and precise. Finally, she placed the grey cap on her head, adjusting it until it sat perfectly. Looking in the mirror, she saw Mrs. Henderson, the head maid, a force to be reckoned with.

Dressed and ready to face the day, Mrs. Henderson left her room and headed to her office, a small but functional space located at the back of the staff quarters. The room was sparsely furnished, containing a large oak desk, a comfortable armchair, and a filing cabinet. The walls were lined with bookshelves, filled with neatly organized files and ledgers. A large window overlooked the gardens, providing a calming view, though Mrs. Henderson was far too agitated to appreciate it at the moment.

Mrs. Henderson sat down at her desk, pulling out the staff schedule. As she reviewed the assignments for the day, her mind raced. Melissa's clandestine studies didn't surprise her. She'd suspected the girl was intellectually inclined, but she'd warned her repeatedly. The dean, Mrs. Cavendish, was a stickler for the rules. No staff member was allowed to be studying while working. But Melissa, stealing money? It made no sense.

Could Melissa have been framed? The thought occurred to Mrs. Henderson. It was possible. But why? Who would want to frame her, and for what reason? The questions swirled in her mind, unanswered. She drummed her fingers on the desk, her brow furrowed in concentration. Melissa was one of "her girls," as she privately thought of the maids under her charge. And one of her girls was in trouble. Unjustly, she suspected. Melissa might be a rule-breaker, but she didn't belong in jail. She belonged at Elmwood Academy, under Mrs. Henderson's watchful eye, learning the way to conduct herself as a proper servant. A little discipline, a little guidance, that's what the girl needed, not a prison cell. Mrs. Henderson felt a surge of protectiveness. She was responsible for her staff, and she wouldn't let this injustice stand.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 20.

by Melissa 

Part 20. Striking a deal with the devil. 

The morning sun, filtered through heavy silk drapes the colour of clotted cream, cast a soft glow across the opulent bedroom. I, Melissa Jones, stirred, a groan escaping my lips. My head throbbed, a dull ache that mirrored the unease churning in my stomach. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the light, taking in the room's extravagant details. A four-poster bed, crafted from dark, polished wood and draped with a canopy of sheer, shimmering fabric, dominated the space. Ornate, gilded mirrors lined one wall, reflecting the plush, velvet chaise lounge and the antique writing desk tucked near the window. A thick, Persian rug, rich with intricate patterns, muffled my bare feet as I swung my legs over the side of the bed. 

Though I'd been living in this room for weeks, it rightfully belonged to the other Melissa Jones, the redhead. And that thought, sharp and insistent, was the source of my headache. The previous day's events also replayed in my mind, a chaotic jumble of flashing lights, raised voices, and the terrified face of the poor redhead. The one whose life I had so casually, so brazenly, usurped. The one who had been led away in handcuffs and was now sitting in a jail cell, accused of theft. A theft that I knew, with a sickening certainty, I myself was responsible for. 

I rose, the cool air sending a shiver down my spine. A silk robe, embroidered with delicate silver thread, lay draped across a nearby chair. I slipped it on, the smooth fabric a stark contrast to the rough texture of my conscience. 

The adjoining bathroom was a sanctuary of marble and glass. A freestanding clawfoot bathtub, gleaming like a pearl, sat beneath a window overlooking the manicured gardens. A separate shower enclosure, with jets spraying from every angle, promised a refreshing start to the day. The air was fragrant with the subtle scent of lavender and sandalwood, emanating from a diffuser perched on a small table beside a pile of fluffy, white towels.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 19.

by Melissa 

Part 19. Arrested. 

The morning after the incident with Mrs. Henderson, I woke up with a throbbing pain in my back. I winced as I sat up, the memory of the previous night's events flashing through my mind. I felt a sense of shame and confusion, but also a strange sense of excitement. 

I reluctantly peeled off the thin, scratchy blanket that barely covered me in the dank, cold room. The walls were a stark white, almost blinding in the harsh light that streamed in through the small, barred window. The room was sparsely furnished with a single, hard bed and a chest of drawers, which contained the only possessions I was allowed: the court-approved underwear and the traditional maid's uniform that was as much a symbol of my degradation as it was a tool for the backbreaking work I was forced to do. 

Gingerly, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, the cold floor sending a shiver up my spine. The ache in my bottom was a constant reminder of my lowly status here at Elmwood Academy. The thought of the cold water was almost unbearable, but I knew hot water was a luxury I could not afford. As a maid, my comfort was never a priority. 

The chilly air nipped at my skin, making me shiver as I walked over to the washbasin, the cold porcelain a stark contrast to the warmth I craved. The icy water in the pitcher was a stark reminder of my place. As I raised it to my face, the frigid liquid hit my skin, making me gasp. I closed my eyes and let it run over my cheeks, hoping it would wash away the tears and the memories of the previous night's punishment. The water felt like a thousand tiny needles, but it was a sensation I had grown all too accustomed to. 

My reflection in the small, cracked mirror looked nothing like the Melissa Jones that once existed. My eyes were sunken, my cheeks flushed from the cold, and my hair was a mess of tangles. As I bent over the washbasin, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of arousal from the memory of the day before. The way Sabrina had forced me into that kiss, her hand gripping the back of my neck, the feel of her soft, demanding lips on mine. It was wrong, and I knew it, but the heat of it had stayed with me, haunting my dreams and leaving me feeling both disgusted and excited.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 18.

by Melissa

Part 18. The price of pleasure.

As I walked back to the maid's quarters, I couldn't stop thinking about that kiss. It had been wrong, so wrong, but there was something about the way Sabrina had taken control that had stirred something deep within me. I tried to shake it off, to focus on finding a way out of this situation, but the memory clung to me like a sticky web. I felt a strange heat pooling in my stomach, and my cheeks burned with a mix of anger and something else - something I didn't dare to name.

In the quiet solitude of my room, I couldn't escape the feeling that had taken root. The way Sabrina had touched me, the way she had made me submit, it was as if she had unlocked a part of me that I had never known existed. I tried to tell myself that it was just the stress, the fear, that was making me feel this way, but deep down, I knew it was more. There was a thrill in the submission, a dark allure that whispered to me, promising an escape from the harsh reality of my predicament.

I lay on my narrow bed, my body feeling both heavy and restless. My mind replayed the scene in the lobby over and over again. Each time, the kiss grew more intense, more demanding. I felt the softness of her lips, the warmth of her breath, and the way she had claimed me as her own. It was a strange mix of anger and arousal that surged through me, leaving me feeling both violated and... excited. I buried my face in my pillow, trying to muffle the soft moan that escaped my lips. My hand, seemingly of its own accord, began to drift down my body. My skin felt feverish and sensitive, the fabric of my maid's uniform too rough against my skin. I slipped my hand under the fabric of my panties, my heart racing as I touched myself. It was as if I was trying to erase the memory of Sabrina's fingers on me, to claim back some semblance of control. My fingertips brushed against my clit, and I gasped. It was swollen and sensitive, and I realized that I was wet, soaking wet, from the encounter.

I couldn't believe it. I hated the way Sabrina made me feel, the way she made me crave something that I didn't even understand. But as my fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles, I couldn't deny the response my body was having. It was as if she had flipped a switch inside me, one that I didn't even know existed. The anger and fear and humiliation all coalesced into something... else. Something that made me feel alive. My breath grew ragged as I touched myself, my imagination conjuring up images of Sabrina standing over me, watching me with that smug smile on her face. But instead of the fear and anger, there was a new emotion there - one of submission, of letting go. And it was terrifying. I didn't want to want this, didn't want to be the kind of person who found pleasure in being used and degraded. But as my orgasm grew closer, I couldn't help but embrace it. It was a release, a way to take back some of the power that she had stolen from me.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 17.

by Melissa 

Part 17. Under Sabrina's thumb. 

The morning sunlight streamed in through the dusty window, casting long shadows across my cramped room of the maid's quarters. I groaned, rolling over to avoid the rays. I had been sleeping on a hard cot for two weeks, ever since I had been mistaken for a delinquent girl and forced to become a school maid at Elmwood Academy. My dreams of a posh private school had turned into a nightmare of endless chores and the strict supervision of Mrs. Henderson, the head maid. Despite my attempt to clarify the identity mistake with the Dean, Mrs. Cavendish, my situation remained unchanged. Mrs. Cavendish, with an air of unwavering resolve, insisted I maintain my duties as school maid while she investigated the matter further. This left me in a peculiar position, unsure of the future but committed to fulfilling my assigned tasks for the time being. 

Today was different from other days though. Mrs. Henderson was away for several hours, and Sabrina, another school maid who I had grown to loathe, was in charge. Sabrina was often cruel to me, taking pleasure in humiliating me. I couldn't help but feel a sense of dread as I climbed out of bed. 

As I made my way downstairs, I noticed that Sabrina was already waiting for me in the kitchen. The normally cheerful room was now tense and uncomfortable. "Good morning, Melissa," Sabrina said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I hope you're ready for another day of hard work." I forced a weak smile, not wanting to antagonize Sabrina further. 

I followed Sabrina through the hallways, past the empty classrooms and locked doors. Today, I was assigned to clean the science lab. My heart sank as I remembered the last time I had been in there. I had accidentally broken a beaker, and Mrs. Henderson had scolded me severely. 

While I wouldn't normally be allowed in, Sabrina used her fingerprint to grant me access to the lab. I felt a shiver of anxiety run down my spine. "Now, Melissa," Sabrina said, her voice low and threatening, "I want you to clean this place spotless. And if I see even the tiniest speck of dust, you'll be sorry." With that, she turned and walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts. 

I took a deep breath and began to survey the lab. It was a mess. Beakers and test tubes were scattered across the counters, and the floor was covered in a layer of grime. I grabbed a mop and bucket and started to clean, methodically scrubbing the tiles until they shone. As I worked, I couldn't help but wonder when Mrs. Henderson would return. I didn't trust Sabrina to be in charge for very long. 

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 16.

by Melissa 

Part 16. The steep price of Maria's forgiveness. 

The phone rang shrill in the quiet of Maria's apartment. She eyed it with suspicion, the memory of Agnès' last call sour in her throat. Finally, with a huff, she snatched it up. "Hello?" 

"Maria, it's Agnès, Elmwood Academy's receptionist again. Did you have a chance to... well, to see everything?" came the hesitant voice on the other end. 

Maria hesitated. "About Melissa, the daughter of my former employers? Yes, I got the video." She couldn't deny a sliver of grudging respect had pierced her anger when she'd seen the young woman, decked out in a scratchy maid uniform, scrubbing the floor with a fervour that spoke volumes. The apology letter too had surprised her. It wasn't the flowery, self-serving apologies Melissa usually offered. This one was raw, filled with a desperation Maria hadn't seen before. 

"And?" Agnès prompted gently. 

"And... well," Maria sighed, "the girl did a good job on her hands and knees, that much is clear. And the letter... it sounds more sincere than I expected. Begging, even." Her voice hardened again. "Doesn't change what happened to me." 

"No, of course not," Agnès soothed. "But sometimes, people make mistakes, Maria. And sometimes, they learn from them." 

Maria snorted. "Melissa's a master of making mistakes. But learning? That's a new one. Besides, hard work does a spoilt girl like her a world of good." 

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 15.

by Melissa 

Part 15. Talking to the dean at last. 

The next day, I stood nervously in the hallway of Elmwood Academy, my heart racing as I saw the message flashed by the biometrics system after I had placed my hand on the fingerprint scanner to access to the laundry room: "Fingerprints recognized and identity as school maid Melissa Jones verified and authenticated. Please suspend current cleaning duties and report immediately to the dean, Mrs. Cavendish." 

Rejoicing inwardly, I offered a silent prayer of thanks to Agnès, the receptionist. Her initiative in snagging this meeting with the dean had potentially saved the day. Now, I'd finally have a chance to explain myself to Mrs. Cavendish, the one person with the power to resolve this bureaucratic nightmare. Crucially, she could update my registration in the biometrics system and undo the identity mix-up that led me to be mistaken for my namesake, a delinquent girl sentenced by a Court to community service as school maid under the strict supervision of Mrs Henderson, the head maid. 

Just then, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Mrs. Henderson, who had been keeping a close eye on me. "Melissa, I've been meaning to warn you," she began, her tone grave. "Tread very carefully around Mrs. Cavendish, the dean. She's a woman of formidable sternness. If you claim to be a student and she doubts your word, things could turn ugly fast. She has the power to dish out extreme punishments, and even with my best efforts, there'd be nothing I could do to shield you from her wrath. Trust me, for your own safety, it's best to avoid telling her about any fantasies of being a student." 

I braced myself and decided to tell the truth. "I've got to do what's right, Ma'am, and that means clearing my name."

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 14.

by Melissa

Part 14. Glimmers of hope.

This was the first day of my second week at Elmwood Academy. It was still early morning, the first bell a distant threat in the quiet halls, but I couldn't wait any longer. Every second counted. After straightening my apron and maid's cap and scanning my fingerprint to open the door, I crept out of my cramped quarters in the maid's dorm, the stolen hours of sleep clinging to my eyelids like cobwebs. In my hand, I clutched the completed assignment, a testament to my nearly sleepless night. The hallway echoed with the soft thud of my steps as I navigated the labyrinthine corridors towards the student lockers.

I soon reached my destination, a stylish locker adorned with an elegant plaque bearing the name "Melissa Jones" and which should have been mine. I reached to the locker and put my fingerprint on the scanner. "Fingerprints recognized and identity as school maid Melissa Jones verified and authenticated. Access to student Melissa Jones' locker denied." Of course, the locker - my locker - was programmed to be used by the delinquent girl who had stolen my identity, not by me.

Suddenly a figure materialized from the shadows. It was the delinquent girl herself. Startled, I almost dropped the assignment. The girl, clad in her pristine schoolgirl uniform, eyed me with suspicion and a defiant scowl, a smirk twisting her lips. "Early bird, aren't we?" she drawled, her voice rough with sleep.

Caught off guard, I stammered, shoving the assignment towards the girl. "I, uh, I finished your assignment."

The girl took the paper with a disinterested shrug, not bothering with a thank you. Then, to my surprise, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled banknote. "For your troubles," she mumbled, thrusting the money into my hand.

I stared at the low-value banknote, torn between relief and hesitation. Taking money felt wrong and it was a very small sum, yet it might come in handy as I was completely penniless after all my means of payment had been confiscated on my arrival at Elmwood Academy. "Thank you, Miss... Jones," I stammered, dropping a clumsy curtsy out of habit.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 13.

by Melissa 

Part 13. The hidden garden. 

As I slowly made my way to my room to rest, still wincing of pain at each step, I couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with me? How could I feel such arousal when Sabrina was belittling me and had forced me to kiss her? Could she be right about me? Was I just a weak submissive girl craving to be dominated? The thought snaked its way through my mind, leaving a trail of ice in its wake. That couldn't be true, I muttered inwardly, desperate to return to a place of certainty. But the seed of doubt had been sown, and I was no longer entirely sure of myself. However, even if I really had submissive fantasies, something I was still reluctant to fully admit, that didn't mean I was going to sacrifice my dreams and give up my education. After all, not all fantasies are meant to come true. Instead, I promised myself that I would show Sabrina that I could be strong and ambitious. 

But another thing worried me. Could Sabrina be right about Elmwood Academy being a place where the students were corrupted and changed into horrible people? I didn't want to believe it, but I was no longer so confident in my previous beliefs, especially as I had witnessed time and again the contempt with which the students had treated me since I had put on the maid's uniform. The situation left me utterly bewildered. Everything I knew felt upside down, and doubt gnawed at the edges of my resolve. Yet, beneath the confusion, a spark of determination flickered. I wouldn't be swayed. My rightful place awaited, and I wouldn't rest until I took it back. 

I finally reached my room, a narrow space tucked away at the end of the maid's quarter. The hard cot beckoned me, promising a much-needed rest. But before collapsing onto the sheets, I paused for a moment, my hand on the door handle. There was something I had to do first. I couldn't shake the feeling that if I didn't confront it now, it would only grow worse. With a deep breath, I opened the door and stepped back into the hallway. 

My heart thudded in my chest as I made my way to the reception desk, where Agnès, the receptionist, sat primly behind her ornate desk. The woman looked up at me with a cool, disapproving glance, her perfectly coiffed hair, sophisticated makeup and beautiful uniform a sharp contrast to my dishevelled appearance. "Yes, girl?" she said, her tone sharp. "What is it you need?"

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 12.

by Melissa

Part 12. The kiss. 

As I trudged through the rust-coloured landscape of Mars, I couldn't help but marvel at the surreal beauty of the place. I was Melissa Jones, a proud astronaut of the first manned mission to the Red planet. The Martian sky was a deep, endless red, dotted with clouds that seemed to shift and dance like ethereal creatures. The ground beneath my space suit's boots was a patchwork quilt of red rock and dust, criss-crossed by the tracks left by my rover. It was eerily quiet, save for the occasional whir of the suit's life-support systems and the faint hiss of dust kicked up by her boots. 

But something was wrong. I felt very sore. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest. The first week of the mission had been filled with exhausting work, and I'd been on edge since the moment I'd landed on the Red planet. Now, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd pushed myself too hard. I'd been given strict orders not to overexert myself, but the allure of exploring this alien world was too great to resist. 

I gasped as I suddenly jolted awake, my heart racing and every muscle in my body protesting. It was then that I realized I was no longer wearing my spacesuit. I was Melissa Jones, but I wasn't an astronaut and this wasn't the vast expanse of Mars I'd been dreaming of for years. In fact, I was still clad in my scratchy maid's uniform from the day before. I was lying on a hard cot in a tiny room of the maid's quarter, the pale light of a single dim bulb casting eerie shadows across the cramped space. The air smelled stale and dusty, and my throat felt raw from the dryness. I sat up slowly, my head spinning, and rubbed at my eyes. This was just another day in the maid's quarters at Elmwood Academy. The same routine I'd been stuck in for a week now, forced to masquerade as a delinquent school maid at this prestigious boarding school where my life had been turned upside down by a cruel twist of fate, my identity stolen by my namesake, a girl from a disadvantaged background who had taken advantage of my misfortune to assume my rightful place. 

I groaned, rolling out of bed and onto the cold wooden floor of my tiny room. After having been punished the day before by having to move countless crates of wine, the pain in my back, shoulders, arms, legs, and even my neck was unbearable. I had never felt this sore in my life. As I sat up, my vision swam, and I had to clutch at my aching head. I couldn't possibly be as sore as I felt; it must be some sort of weird dream. I stood unsteadily, my legs wobbling, and made my way to the mirror. 

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 11.

by Melissa

Part 11. Discovering Elmwood Academy as a privileged student.

The morning sun peeked through the luxurious drapes, casting warm light across my room. I stirred, the weight of the previous night's realization still heavy on my chest. Was it all a dream? Would the other Melissa Jones - the redhead - arrive and shatter the illusion? But then, a knock on the door jolted me back to reality.

Opening the door, I was greeted by three girls, their faces alight with friendly smiles. Their polished uniforms and confident demeanours screamed "Elmwood Academy royalty." Yet, their voices held a warmth that surprised me. They introduced themselves as my next-door neighbours, privileged Elmwood students named Jessica, Emma and Olivia. Their voices held a warmth that surprised me. Used as I was to averted gazes and hushed whispers, this open friendliness felt surreal.

"Good morning, Melissa!" Jessica's voice rang out, bubbly and enthusiastic. "We saw you weren't out and about yet, so we thought we'd invite you to join us for breakfast in the lounge."

Emma, the quiet observer of the group, chimed in, "It's the most incredible spread, with everything you could imagine. And the company's pretty good too," she added with a wink.

Olivia, the fashionista of the trio, flashed a dazzling smile. "Come on, we wouldn't want you to miss out! Put on your uniform, and we'll show you the way."

The invitation hung in the air, laced with genuine kindness. I hesitated, the weight of my secret pressing down on me. Normally, the very idea of rich entitled girls would have made me bristle. But something about their genuine smiles and the warmth in their eyes disarmed me, and the thought of sharing a meal with these seemingly friendly girls, of experiencing another slice of this privileged world, was too tempting to resist. Taking a deep breath, I agreed, my voice barely above a whisper. "Sure, thank you."

Hesitantly, I donned the unfamiliar schoolgirl uniform again, the soft fabric still unfamiliar against my skin but whispering promises of a different life. Joining my new neighbours, I followed them through the corridors, their laughter echoing in the grand halls. As I walked alongside them, their chatter filled the hallway, a symphony of excitement and plans for the day. I listened, absorbing their world, their language, feeling like an outsider peering into a secret club. But their casual acceptance, their lack of judgment, offered a sliver of comfort.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 10.

by Melissa

Part 10. Welcomed as a privileged student at Elmwood Academy.

The cacophony of announcements, hurried footsteps, and rolling luggage painted a vivid portrait of bustling life as I waded through the human current of the train station, on my way to the platform where my second-class carriage was waiting for me. Suddenly, I collided with a red-haired girl, the impact sharp and unexpected. I stumbled back, surprised, and my eyes met hers. She was the epitome of preppy perfection, designer labels adorning her like polished armour. Her outfit screamed wealth and privilege, a stark contrast to my own worn and somewhat trashy clothes that bear the quiet scars of a life less fortunate.

A wave of self-consciousness washed over me. The air thrummed with an awkward silence, thick with the unspoken difference between our worlds. Not wanting to give that rich bitch any opportunity to humiliate me, I decided to take the initiative and to have a little fun at her expense.

"You clumsy oaf!" I exploded in her face, my voice dripping with accusation and disdain. "Look what you've done!"

Taken aback by my words, the loser girl meekly apologized. As she began to gather her scattered belongings, I noticed that our train tickets had both fluttered to the ground. I quickly went down and retrieved her first class ticket.

"My ticket!" she exclaimed, her eyes glinting with surprise. "That's mine!"

"Oh, please," I scoffed at her with amusement. "Look at you, all dressed up like you're going to a debutante ball. You don't deserve a seat in first class."

Then I turned around and, before that dumb redhead could react, I hurried away in the crowd with her first-class ticket tightly clutched in my hand, leaving my own ticket on the ground.

Shortly afterwards, the train conductor materialized in front of me. A wave of apprehension washed over me as I faced him, fearing he'd confiscate the first-class ticket. Instead, to my surprise, he only offered a warm smile after examining it. "This way, Miss," he gestured forward, ushering me into the opulent first-class cabin. Without asking, he effortlessly lifted my luggage, making me feel instantly pampered. With a reassuring smile, he made sure I was comfortably seated before turning his attention to other first-class passengers.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 9.

by Melissa

Part 9. A setback and a punishment

My heart plummeted as the receptionist's words washed over me. The glimmer of hope I had clung to, the possibility that Maria's intervention could give me back my true identity, seemed to vanish in an instant. "You didn't send the letter?" I gasped in surprise.

The receptionist, her gaze now avoiding mine, nodded slowly. "No," she admitted. "I... I read it first, out of curiosity. And after what I read, I couldn't bring myself to send it."

"You read my letter?" I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, her gaze unwavering. "I did. And frankly, Miss Jones," she continued, her voice laced with disappointment, "it painted a far from flattering picture of your actions towards Maria. Allowing her to be falsely accused of theft and then, but only after needing her help, offering her money as a kind of consolation... it doesn't speak well of your character."

Shame burned through me, hotter than all the stoves I'd been forced to clean since my arrival at Elmwood Academy. The receptionist's words mirrored the self-recriminations that had haunted me since realizing the gravity of my mistake. "I know," I whispered, my voice choked with emotion. "I was scared and selfish. And until now, I didn't understand the true cost of my silence."

"Maybe you just deserve what's happening to you," she continued, her voice devoid of malice but laced with a firm conviction. "Perhaps this experience is a harsh lesson, one you sorely needed."

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 8.

by Melissa 

Part 8. Acknowledging the wrongs I've done to Maria and begging for her forgiveness. 

With a mix of anticipation and apprehension, I returned to the reception area on the next day hoping for some news from Maria, my family's former maid. The receptionist, her face etched with concern, greeted me with a sombre expression. "I have some news about your letter, Miss Jones" she began, her voice laced with sympathy. "Maria received it and called me shortly after." 

My heart pounded with anticipation as I listened to the receptionist's update. However, my hopes were quickly dashed as she relayed Maria's reaction. "Maria doesn't believe you," the receptionist explained, her voice filled with disappointment. "She refuses to believe your story about being mistaken for a delinquent school maid and thinks you're pulling a cruel prank on her, seeking to exploit her trust and loyalty." 

"But I explained everything in the letter," I protested, my voice laced with desperation. "I told her about the mix-up and how I'm forced to impersonate the delinquent school maid." 

"I know, Miss Jones," the receptionist sympathized, her eyes filled with compassion. "I even tried to explain the situation to her, but she is unfamiliar with me and didn't take my word for it." 

My stomach churned with disappointment. Maria's distrust was a bitter pill to swallow, especially considering the close bond we once shared. The idea that she could doubt my character was a harsh blow, a stinging reminder of the rift that had formed between us during the events that led to her dismissal by my parents. 

"Maria also said that you must have a sick sense of humour," the receptionist continued, her tone laced with frustration. "She's still angry with you for what happened to her when she lost her job, and she doesn't trust you." 

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 7.

by Melissa

Part 7. A phone call from the judge.

As the phone rang in the staff room, Mrs. Henderson's heart pounded with a mix of anticipation and dread. The head maid knew who was calling – Judge Thompson, the stern and unforgiving woman who had sentenced Melissa Jones, the delinquent school maid, to community service at Elmwood Academy.

"Mrs. Henderson," Judge Thompson's voice boomed through the receiver, her sharp tone cutting through the silence, "I'm calling to seek an update on the progress of Melissa Jones, the delinquent girl I entrusted to your care at Elmwood Academy. I trust you've had ample time to evaluate her behaviour since her arrival."

Mrs. Henderson cleared her throat, her mind racing to recall the details of Melissa's behaviour. "Yes, Your Honour, absolutely" she began, her voice cautious, "Melissa has been assigned to various cleaning tasks and has consistently fulfilled them diligently."

"Really?" Judge Thompson's tone sharpened. "It's not like her to do that. What about her adherence to the rules and regulations of the academy?"

"She has generally followed the guidelines," Mrs. Henderson admitted, "but there is one particular aspect of her behaviour that concerns me."

"Enlighten me," Judge Thompson commanded.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 6.

by Melissa

Part 6. Writing to Maria. 

As the first rays of dawn pierced through the darkness, I reluctantly dragged myself out of my uncomfortable cot in the maid's quarters, my body protesting against the strenuous labour I had endured over the past few days. My limbs felt heavy and stiff, my muscles sore from endless hours of washing dishes, scrubbing floors and cleaning toilets. As I stood up, I felt a wave of despair.

Hoping for a miracle, I stumbled towards the nearest fingerprint scanner, my head pounding and my stomach churning. I placed my hand on the fingerprint scanner, but the answer was similar to the one of the previous day: "Fingerprints recognized and identity as school maid Melissa Jones verified and authenticated. Please report to the head maid for instructions." I was still trapped in the identity of my namesake, the delinquent school maid, and thus forced to live like a lowly servant to the elite of Elmwood Academy. I longed to reclaim my true identity, to escape the confines of this mistaken identity and return to the life I had envisioned for myself. But the evidence of my fingerprint match seemed irrefutable, leaving me with no clear path forward.

I shook my head, trying to clear the fog that clouded my mind, and forced myself to move. After a quick shower, I got dressed in the drab maid's uniform that now seemed to symbolize my fall from grace. The scratchy underwear and the starched maid's outfit felt stiff and abrasive against my skin, a stark contrast to the soft, flowing garments I was normally accustomed to. After adjusting my maid's cap and straightening my apron, I stood there motionless in my tatty uniform.

With a sigh, I glanced at the mirror. The harsh realities of my new life as a school maid had taken their toll on my physical appearance. My skin, once radiant with youth and vitality, was now pale and drawn, bearing the marks of exhaustion and constant strain. My once neatly styled hair was a tangled mess, resembling a bird's nest after a storm. And the dark circles under my eyes served as a constant reminder of the relentless demands of my work. I looked like a ghost of my former self, a casualty of the harsh realities of my new life. The uniform symbolizing my servitude felt like a second skin, a constant reminder of my diminished status. The starched fabric chafed against my skin, the faded colours a stark contrast to the vibrant hues I had once favoured. I also longed for the days when I could adorn myself with makeup, the colours and textures transforming my appearance and boosting my confidence. But those days seemed like a distant memory, a relic of a life I could no longer claim. My makeup, confiscated at my arrival, was a symbol of my lost identity, a reminder of the world I had been forced to leave behind. It was a small loss, perhaps, but it felt like a profound violation, a stripping away of my individuality. Without makeup, I felt exposed and vulnerable, my flaws laid bare for all to see. The reflection in the mirror was a harsh indictment of my altered circumstances, a constant reminder of my fall from grace.

With a jolt of determination, I shook off the remnants of my trance-like state and sprang into action. The realization of my predicament, my forced identity as a delinquent school maid, was a harsh reminder of the circumstances I found myself in. I had to act swiftly to rectify the situation, to prove my true identity as a student and escape the confines of this demeaning role. There was no time to waste. The longer I remained in this charade, the more difficult it would be to unravel.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 5.

by Melissa

Part 5. Trying to get a phone.

As the first rays of sunlight crept through the windows, I stirred from my uncomfortable cot in the maid's quarters. The events of the two previous days still felt like a hazy dream, a bizarre mix-up that had landed me, Melissa Jones, in the unexpected role of a lowly school maid. I rose from my bed, my body aching from the strenuous work of the previous day. Hoping that somehow things had been resolved while I slept, I went other to the door and placed my hand on the fingerprint scanner. The device beeped and a message flashed on the screen: "Fingerprints recognized and identity as school maid Melissa Jones verified and authenticated. Please report to the communal kitchen immediately." 

The harsh reality of my predicament settled in again, and I felt a surge of frustration and helplessness. The evidence was clear – my fingerprints still matched the profile of the delinquent school maid, sealing my current fate as a servant in this prestigious institution. The irony of the situation was not lost on me. Here I was, a student from a wealthy background, now reduced to the role of a menial worker, supposed to clean up after the privileged students of the academy. The contrast between the respect to which I was normally entitled and my new status was striking and humiliating.

As I gazed at the starched dress and white apron hanging on the hook, a wave of despair washed over me. This uniform, a symbol of my demotion from a privileged student to a lowly maid, was a constant reminder of my absurd predicament. With a sigh, I slipped into the uncomfortable underwear, the rough fabric grating against my skin. The starched dress felt like a second skin when I put it on, its stiffness reminding me of the rigid rules and regulations that governed my new life. I buttoned the front of the dress, the row of tiny buttons a testament to the meticulous attention to detail required of a maid. 

The dress hung on me like a shroud, its plainness a stark contrast to the vibrant colours I had once embraced. The white apron, with its school emblem, felt like a badge of shame, a humiliating sign of my displacement from the world of privilege and luxury. As I stared at my reflection in the mirror, I saw a stranger staring back at me. The once confident and poised student was replaced by a meek and subservient maid. My reflection was a harsh testament to my new humbling circumstances. 

Yet, amidst the turmoil of my emotions, I also felt a spark of determination. Despite the challenges I faced, I refused to give up hope. I had a burning desire to reclaim my rightful place at Elmwood Academy. I would prove that I was the real Melissa Jones, the sophisticated and intelligent student from a wealthy family, not the delinquent school maid that everyone seemed to think I was.

 

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 4.

 by Melissa

Part 4. My first day working as a school maid

As the first rays of dawn crept through the narrow window of my room in the maid's quarters, I was jolted awake by a sharp knock on the door. "Melissa Jones!" a stern voice called out, its urgency breaking the stillness of the early morning. Rising groggily from my makeshift bed, I realized I had slept in the uncomfortable maid's uniform I had been given by the receptionist. I hurried to the door, my mind still fuzzy from sleep. Standing before me was a tall and imposing woman with a stern expression. She was dressed in a traditional maid's uniform of black dress and white apron. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and she had a clipboard in her hand. 

"Girl, I am Mrs. Henderson, the head maid, and you're late for your morning cleaning duties," she barked, her voice echoing in the small room. "Get down to the common area immediately." 

My heart sank. I had hoped that the confusion of the previous day would be resolved overnight, but it was clear that my predicament was far from over. I tried to explain my situation. "Ma'am," I began, my voice trembling slightly, "I am not a school maid. My name is indeed Melissa Jones, but I am a student who arrived yesterday." 

Mrs. Henderson raised an eyebrow, her expression sceptical. "A student?" she repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief. "Dressed like that?", she said looking at my maid's uniform. "Besides," the head maid added, "that's impossible. According to our records, you are the delinquent school maid who is currently serving community service." 

I tried to protest, starting to explain the theft of my the train ticket, the missed car and the circumstances of my registration in the biometrics system, but Mrs. Henderson remained unconvinced. As I insisted, she marched over to the fingerprinting device and placed my hand on the scanner. The device beeped, confirming my identity as the delinquent school maid. The head maid's lips curled into a smug smile, her disbelief now replaced by a sense of triumph. "See?" she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "Biometrics don't lie. Your fingerprints match the records. You're Melissa Jones, the delinquent school maid, and that's all there is to it." 

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 3.

by Melissa 

Part 3. My arrival at the school 

As the rain poured down relentlessly, drenching me to the bone, I stood before the imposing gates of Elmwood Academy, my heart pounding in my chest. The journey had been a series of unfortunate events, from the theft of my first-class ticket to the loss of my luggage and the missed car. Now, I found myself shivering and soaked in front of the intercom, on a Sunday evening, hoping that someone would hear my plea for help. I pressed the button, my finger trembling slightly. "Hello?" I called out, my voice laced with desperation. "Is anyone there?" The silence that followed was deafening, a harsh contrast to the relentless drumming of the rain on the pavement. 

A surge of panic threatened to overwhelm me as I pressed the button again, my voice trembling as I uttered my name and asked for assistance. Still, no answer came. I was soaked to the bone, my clothes clinging to my shivering form as the wind whipped through my hair. The rain seemed to mock my predicament, a relentless reminder of my isolation and vulnerability. Just when I was about to give up hope, a woman's voice crackled through the intercom, startling me out of my despair. "Hello?" the woman asked, slightly muffled "This is the receptionist." 

"Thank goodness," I exclaimed, relief washing over me. "I'm Melissa Jones, the new student. I was supposed to be picked up by a car from the school, but I missed it. Could you please let me inside?" 

"Melissa Jones you say," the receptionist replied. "Just wait for a minute, I will check the database." 

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Parts 1-2.

by Melissa

Part 1. On my way to my new home

Nestled comfortably in the plush armchair of the first-class train compartment, I gazed out the window, watching the world blur past in a kaleidoscope of colors. My heart pounded with a mix of excitement and apprehension as I embarked on this journey to Elmwood Academy, a prestigious all-female private boarding school where I had been accepted. The thought of living there independently for the next six months, without the constant presence of my family, was both daunting and exhilarating. 

Just days ago, I had bid farewell to my parents, their departure for a six-month Mars simulation mission marking the beginning of my independent journey. Elmwood Academy awaited me, ready to nurture my academic aspirations and provide a stimulating environment for personal growth. The idea of living independently at Elmwood filled me with a mix of excitement and nervousness. I would be on my own for the next six months, without the support of my parents. But I knew that I was up for such a challenge. I had always been independent and self-reliant, and I was confident that I could manage my life at Elmwood with ease. 

As the train drew closer to Elmwood Academy, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels mirroring the pounding of my heart, I found myself lost in a sea of thoughts, reflecting on the person I was and the person I aspired to be. I was Melissa Jones, a young woman with a voracious thirst for knowledge, a dreamer with a heart full of ambition. I was eager to explore the world around me, to delve into the depths of human understanding, and to make a positive impact on the lives of those around me. Yet, I was also aware of my own limitations, the insecurities that held me back, and the fears that threatened to stifle my dreams. I knew that I had the potential to achieve great things, but I also recognized the need for growth, the need to shed my inhibitions and embrace the power within me. 

Elmwood Academy, with its promise of academic rigor, intellectual stimulation, and a supportive community of female peers, seemed like the perfect catalyst for my transformation. I envisioned myself stepping into this vibrant environment, surrounded by like-minded girls, all eager to challenge themselves and reach their full potential. I imagined myself engaging in stimulating discussions, challenging my assumptions, and expanding my horizons. I envisioned myself participating in research projects, exploring new ideas, and making groundbreaking discoveries. Most importantly, I envisioned myself shedding my self-doubt and embracing my leadership potential. I saw myself stepping up to take on challenges, voicing my opinions with confidence, and inspiring others with my passion and determination. 

Elmwood Academy, with its commitment to fostering female leadership, seemed like the perfect place for me to blossom into the leader I had always wanted to be. I believed that the school's nurturing environment and supportive community would provide me with the guidance, mentorship, and encouragement I needed to unleash my leadership potential and make a meaningful difference in the world.